Landing
by esking
Summary: From landing at the airport, first from Arthur's perspective, then Ariadne's. No A/A. There's someone else Arthur's hoping to see. And now it continues with someone who's hoping to see Arthur, and not in a good way. T for impending doom. I mean violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Landing-The Fantasy**

**This is a two part, semi inspired by the part in 500 Days of Summer when it shows Tom's expectations, and then the reality. Sorry for A/A fans, it is quite a bit the opposite. But no slash either. **

His stomach churned nervously as he heaved his suitcase off the carousel. It was lighter than he remembered, and he over-balanced slightly. He could feel Eames trying to catch his eye, but ignored him. He was done with those people, with everything. If this turned out the way he so desperately hoped. His sharp eyes darted over the crowd of people waiting outside customs, lips pressed together, praying as he'd never done in his life. He'd left the message last night, after dialing the number he'd sworn he'd never dial again. He'd begged for forgiveness. Now it was time to see if she had listened. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing past the die and alighting on a smooth metal circle. He took it out and slid it onto the fourth finger of his left hand. It felt so right there, so perfect, and he knew in that instant that she would be there. _Yes_. There.

He shouldered his way forward, a desperate pounding sensation filling his chest. Faster. He barely paused, pushing through the final gate. She was in his arms, her body warm and real. So real. He kissed her, there in front of everyone, not caring in the slightest. His hand was in her perfect, luscious hair. The desolation of three long years dissipated in that instant, in that one kiss. Everything was alright.

**The Reality**

Ariadne wrestled her suitcase onto the floor, and wove her way unsteadily through the throngs of people. The wheels squeaked, and she stumbled once or twice. Her legs felt soft, like marshmallows. Probably an after-effect of the Somnacin. Her vision was a little blurred as well, but she was sure this would wear off in time. She bumped into a man wearing a suit, and muttered an apology. A second glance made her realize that it was Arthur. She gave him a small smile, but his eyes were fixed across the hall, past the final gates, to where a crowd of waiting relatives and friends stood crammed together, wearing nearly identical expressions of anticipative excitement. She looked back at Arthur. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, scanning the crowd, and he was walking forward all the time. She followed at a distance, suddenly overwhelmingly curious about whom he was intending to meet. At the center of the waiting crowd, he turned on the spot, head raised hopefully, face revealing more emotion than she'd ever seen before. After a solid five minutes, his shoulders drooped, and he negotiated his way outside, toward the line of cabs. However, he didn't hail one. He merely dropped down onto a bench and stared at his intertwined fingers. His hands caught the head light of a passing car, and she saw a burnished silver gleam on his fourth finger. Suddenly, Ariadne knew who Arthur was waiting for. Pity squirmed in her chest. She watched him sit there, standing out of sight, but he didn't look up.

Over the roar of cars and busses, Ariadne heard a small voice say, "Tommy?"

Arthur's head shot up. He raised himself to his feet, suitcase forgotten. Ariadne turned her head. She now saw a blonde woman, taller than herself but shorter than Arthur, standing several feet from the bench.

Slowly, Arthur walked toward her. His head was lowered, and Ariadne couldn't hear his next words. She woman shook her head. Ariadne edged closer, still concealing herself behind a telephone booth.

"I'm glad you did," Arthur was saying.

"Tommy, you're a lying bastard," said the woman, and Ariadne blinked in surprise. But her tone was gentle, and she was smiling. "But you're the lying bastard I fell in love with."

"With whom I fell in love," Arthur corrected softly.

The woman laughed. "Exactly." She kissed him lightly on the mouth.

Ariadne back pedaled several paces, realizing on what she had just intruded. It seemed so impossible, and at the same time just as impossible that she'd never considered the possibility of Arthur having a life outside extraction. He was a grown person, who surely hadn't spent his entire life inside of dreams. But still…that kiss. She shook her head. Best to put it out of her mind. She wasn't going to see him again, ever, probably. She was happy that he was happy. Wasn't she?

**A/N: Sorry about the irresoluteness of the ending. If anyone has any suggestions for continuations, or just regular comments, I'd love to hear (read) them. Thanks for reading!**

**-esking**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**I wasn't really intending to continue this past the first scene, but I have decided otherwise because the Johnny Depp on my right shoulder is a better debater than the one on my left. So here's chapter 2, and it may continue to continue, if the Johnny Depp on my left shoulder will agree to edit the one of my right's ideas for laying out Caspian's (rather sadistic but amusing) suggestion. So, from myself and the Depps, chapter 2.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Inception, Pirates of the Caribbean, or Johnny Depp, but I do own Caspian's soul, which makes an excellent throw rug.**

It wasn't until Arthur (Tommy?) had left with the pretty blonde woman that Ariadne realized she had nowhere to go. She was standing outside an unfamiliar airport in an unfamiliar city with no plan, no friends, and close to half a million dollars in hundred dollar bills.

Of these three facts, the money was what scared her. Her family had never been altogether on top of their financial situation; she'd been at the Sorbonne on full scholarship, living the budget-tight life of a regular college student. And now she had more money in her pocket than she'd had in her whole life put together, and she had no idea what to do. So she sank down onto the stone bench upon which, so recently, Arthur had waited for his wife, and stared at her shoes.

A few minutes later, a shuttle bus for a Super-8 motel pulled up and on a snap decision, Ariadne hefted her duffel and climbed aboard. She was the only passenger.

0

She checked into a room, paying for a single night with one of the $100 bills, and climbed the thinning carpet stairs to the second floor. In her room, 213, she flopped onto the bed and stared up at the off-white ceiling, allowing a wave of exhaustion wash over her with stunning force. The details of the job bounced and jangled in her memory, refusing to coalesce with the rest of her ordinary life. It wasn't something one could just rationalize. She had felt the same way after 9/11. Everything was so alien, so jarringly normal that it was abnormal. Suddenly everything was so obstinately real it was almost insulting, so resolutely not malleable. A panicked sensation swept through her. Her heart pounded, and her hands fumbled for the bishop in her pocket. She set it on the grainy bedside table and flicked it. Real. Real life.

She lay back again and closed her eyes. Against the backdrop of the inside of her eyelids, she saw Arthur and the woman hugging. She opened her eyes and sighed. She couldn't stop thinking about it, even if she wanted to.

She felt a painful surge of longing for Paris, for its cobbled streets and baking croissants, for the rude taxi drivers and great flying buttresses. She'd get the earliest flight the next morning, she decided.

But then another thought struck her. She was richer than she'd ever been in her life, in the entertainment capitol of the world. Why not have a little fun?

**oOo**

It was not so unlike Paris, really. The grimy streets were packed with shoppers and cars and bicycles. Tourists were harder to pick out, she realized, although maybe it was only because she wasn't native to L.A. She passed the hulking studios for MGM and the others, whose names she didn't know. She'd never really watched many movies. She passed a poster for the movie "J. Edgar", about the FBI guy, and had to laugh, because the guy in the picture looked exactly how she imagined an old Cobb would.

Ariadne stopped at an outside café for lunch, lamenting the enclosed patio, unlike in Paris where all the tables faced the street. She sat down, looking casually around, and felt her jaw drop. Scott Caan was sitting two tables away from her, sunglasses perched on his two-inch-tall hair do. As she watched, he stood up, and her jaw dropped even further. He was _tiny._ She's watched Hawaii Five-O obsessively for the first season, and he'd never looked _that _short. She stared unashamedly until he'd left the café.

"Hello, there darling." A man wearing a florid Hawaiian shirt and tan cargo pants, eyes hidden by reflective glasses, had taken the free seat and was looking at Ariadne.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I don't-"

"Dere is a silenced gun beneat dis table, if ya try ta leave, or if ya make a sound, if you widen your eyes at a waitah, I will shoot you in the stomach. Do we understand each other?" His voice was nasal, and had a pinched Boston accent.

Ariadne swallowed hard and nodded.

"Good," the man leaned forward a little. "I don't wanna hurt ya. You're a pretty girl, and I'm very impartial ta hurting pretty girls. I'm hopin' ya smart, too, and dat you'll tell me where Arthur Smith is."

"Wh-who?"

The man shook his head. "Not a very good impression of smart, sweetie. The guy ya got off the plane wit. Skinny, dark hair, nice suit."

"Everyone wears a nice suit in first class," Ariadne said, resenting the tremor in her voice. "I don't know who you-"

"Dis guy," the man slid a picture across the table. It was unmistakably Arthur.

"I'm sorry, I don't recognize him."

"Ya not a very good liah, hon," said the man. "Which is good for you, actually. If you were, I would be inclined to think you'd been trained, so to speak. Which would give me reason ta believe you know what this man does for a livin'. Which would make you much more interestin' to me. And believe this, girlie, you don't wanna be interestin' ta me. But I _do_ tink ya now somethin', so I'm gonna ask you again, where is he?"

"God, I don't know," said Ariadne. "I swear I don't. I saw him leave, but I don't know where he went. I…"

"You know what ya doin' right now?" the man interjected. "You're protectin' him. I can tell dese tings. Dat ain't good, no, not at all. Dis man don't needa be protected. He's the _last_ person you should be protectin'. Do you know what kinda man he is?"

Ariadne shook her head.

"He's a stone killah. Stone. Killed a dozen men by hisself, once. Bam." He mimed a gun shot to the temple. "Straight troo the brain pans, ev'ry one a dem. What I'm sayin' is, he ain't a good guy, and you should help me find him."  
>"Are you a cop?"<p>

At this, the man chuckled, but it was not pleasant. It reminded Ariadne of a rattle snake shaking its tail. "Am I a cop?" he said to himself. "Am I a cop, she asks. Are _you _a cop?" he demanded. "Are you interrogatin' me?"

Ariadne shook her head again.

"Dat's right. So I tink I'll be askin' the questions around here."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Thanks to all readers and reviewers! You make my day brighter. You should be very proud of yourself. You should also feed your water buffalo, because everybody has one. It's true. Everybody's got a water buffalo. Yours is fast, but mine is slow. Where we get them, I don't know but everybody's got a water buffalo OOOOOOOOOO! (We all also have baby kangaroos, but yours is pink and mine is blue.)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Inception or VeggieTales, but I still own Caspian's soul. It is also an excellent rag for washing the floors. **

He'd dreamed about this moment a million times since he'd left, over a year ago. He'd imagined the tiny entry hall with the three coat hooks, the little table where Laura tossed her keys. He'd savored the image of their small, neat kitchen, and the living room with the black and white TV. From where he stood, he could see the bedroom and the bathroom. It was all exactly the same as he'd remembered. He was in a perfect bubble, and nothing could pop it.

**oOo**

Ariadne didn't know what to do. The man wouldn't leave, but she had nothing to tell him. She knew nothing. She couldn't tell him what she didn't know. She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes, and was suddenly overwhelmed with a fiery anger. This wasn't her. She wasn't the wimpy, demur college student she'd been five months ago. She didn't take things for granted, or obey just because she was told to. She was the Architect. She'd played an instrumental part in the fall of one of the modern world's greatest empires. Who was this man to tell her what to do? So he had a gun. Great freaking news for him. She'd fired a gun before. She'd shot someone right in the chest. If he wanted to threaten her, fine. Two could play at that game.

"Listen, Buster," she said, leaning forward. "If you were a cop, you'd have flashed a badge and taken me in for questioning. You didn't, so I'm gathering you don't have legitimate approval for this little chat you're eliciting. Which means that you are threatening me, and I can press charges for that. I can make one look at a waiter, and he'd have security on top of you before you could ask me another question. Look around," she continued before the man could speak. "See that red-head over there? Yeah, that's the chick from 'Mad Men'. You don't think there's security here? Who's side do you think they'd be on between a five-one college girl and an old creeper with a hand gun? So I'd think very carefully about how you phrase your next sentence, and before you do, I repeat _I don't know where Arthur is_, so back the hell off and leave me alone."

The man smiled to himself. "That's very impressive speakin', Ariadne," he said. "Fine. I won't ask ya again. You've made your point. I just wanna make mine before I leave ya to your lunch. If I find out that you haven't told me what you know, there won't be a body to represent the other side of the argument." He stood up and wove his way out of the restaurant. Ariadne's stomach flipped over, but she sat tall and firm, refusing show any sign of weakness. She watched the man until he disappeared through the gate of the garden. She returned to her iced tea. Arthur's business was his own. She'd seen more than enough evidence that he could handle himself.

Of course he could. He was Arthur…Damn it. She was too curious for her own good. Why did they want Arthur? She cursed and tossed a hundred down on the table, and left.

**Thanks for reading/reviewing. Party times for cool peeps. Join us next time for…something else that happens later…**

**-esking**


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